Despite the danger that ROSSI could come up with some other threat, Dmitri did not break with him. Of course, he duly informed the Center about the incident. But he accepted the danger in dealing with his agents as an occupational hazard, as part and parcel of his intelligence work.
And the risk Dmitri took in his dealings with ROSSI paid off handsomely. The agent possessed a wealth of knowledge about the inner workings of the international black market in codes and ciphers. In the future, he gave Dmitri numerous leads to other sources of important information and recruitment opportunities. This made the ROSSI line the most productive in Dmitri’s spy career.30
One of the first people ROSSI introduced Dmitri to was a French foreign intelligence agent and recruiter, Rodolphe Lemoine. Born Rudolf Stallman, he had come from a wealthy family of Berlin jewelers but, after travelling around the world, had become addicted to the thrill of espionage. In 1918, he became a French citizen and was recruited by the Deuxieme Bureau, French military intelligence, where his code name was REX. Lemoine’s looks and personality made Dmitri cringe. Although, at the time of their meeting, the man was just in his late fifties, according to Bystrolyotov, Lemoine looked old, ominous, and repulsive. In “Generous Hearts,” he describes his profile as “strange-looking, as if cut out of cardboard and daubed with yellow and brown paint.” His full face also resembled that of a “villain and scoundrel in theater makeup. Dead eyes set deeply under gray brows streaked with red.”31
But the connection turned out to be very important. Lemoine’s method was not selling diplomatic ciphers of various countries but exchanging them for similar material of countries he did not have. That way, later on, the Soviets obtained ciphers of diplomatic mail from Austria, Belgium, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. Through him, the Soviets could also identify the sources of confidential information leaks from the USSR.32
Pressed by the necessity to return to his prime responsibility—handling “Charlie” and keeping the OGPU out of the equation when dealing with foreign agents—Dmitri made another “false flag” move. He introduced Lemoine (code-named JOSEPH) to one “Walter Scott,” an agent of “American military intelligence.”33
His true name was Ignatii Stanislavovich Poretsky (1899–1937). Born to a middle-class family in Austria-Hungary, he took part in the revolutionary movement in Europe. After the end of the Russian civil war, he worked as an illegal operative in central and eastern Europe and was awarded a Military Red Banner order. At the time he and Dmitri met, Poretsky (legal cover name “Ignace Reiss,” code-named RAYMOND) began his West European assignment for the Soviet Foreign Intelligence. Judging from the fact that Poretsky was one of three intelligence officers who would write a letter of recommendation for Dmitri to join the Party and the high responsibility it carried, they were in close collaboration. (Moreover, the time would come when the recommendation would become Dmitri’s liability after Poretsky’s defection to the West in 1937.)34
Meanwhile, ROSSI and Dmitri agreed to see each other in Berlin in a few months’ time to discuss the terms of selling Italian ciphers. Now Dmitri could go back to what he had already been prepared to do: to close in on ARNO.
EIGHT
Handling “Charlie”
It’s easier to deal with a fool than with a drunkard.
—RUSSIAN PROVERB
If, in finding and handling ROSSI, Dmitri showed his ingenuity, ability to take risks, and perseverance, all of these qualities were even more pronounced in his most celebrated case: controlling “Charlie” (code-named ARNO), the British agent with access to diplomatic material.
Having passed the Lemoine contact to “Ignace Reiss,” Dmitri went to Paris, where Bazarov and “Charlie” had already been meeting regularly. Dmitri showed up at a restaurant where Bazarov and ARNO were together and pretended that he had mixed up the time of his own appointment with “Da Vinci” (Bazarov). Later, when Hungarian “Count Perelly” (Dmitri) approached “Charlie” on his own, he could speak with him not as a stranger but as a colleague working for the same boss. The Hungarian count confided his life story to “Charlie.” Ruined by “that awful war” and down on his luck, the count had first found a temporary haven in Bolshevist ideology. To maintain the same lifestyle he had before the war, he took money from the OGPU, thus winding up in its claws, from which it was difficult to extricate himself.1
Handling “Charlie” was a delicate job. The trick was to ensure his cooperation. Scaring him off could cause him to sever the connection or, even worse, to leave the Foreign Office, escaping the pressure altogether. Therefore, Dmitri’s story was intended to make the Brit believe that he and the count were in the same boat: two mixed-up decent people of the same social standing, comrades in misfortune, who had to stick together while working for the same master. Dmitri explained that having been assigned to work with “Charlie,” he was following the orders of “that cruel and angry Bolshevik, ‘Da Vinci,’ ” only out of necessity. “Count Perelly’s” only hope of ever getting out of this mess was to rely on his new British friend’s cooperation. If “Charlie” wouldn’t give “Da Vinci” whatever he wanted, the proud Hungarian count would pay the price. The Soviets threatened to move him away from his beloved Europe to work in some uncivilized place, in some godforsaken part of the world. He dreaded even thinking about such an unfortunate turn of events.
Though sympathetic to the count’s predicament, ARNO continued to guard his true identity zealously, and Dmitri decided on active pursuit. After one of their meetings, he shadowed “Charlie,” again bringing in his assistant couple, PEEP and ERIKA. Joined by Bazarov himself, all four tried many times to track down where ARNO was staying in Paris by stalking him, but they failed miserably time and again. The Brit seemed to know the Paris streets thoroughly and foiled all attempts to pursue him. This fact alone convinced Dmitri that “Charlie” was misrepresenting himself: such a skill hardly fit the image of a modest typesetter.
During one of their next meetings in a restaurant, Dmitri tried to slow “Charlie” down by getting him drunk. It was easy: the man seemed to like alcohol a great deal. But all attempts at surveillance failed again. Though considerably intoxicated, the man spotted his pursuer in the crowd, approached him, and laughingly told him to “stop playing the street spy.” Instead, he suggested a new place for their next meeting—his Paris relatives’ apartment—and he gave him their address. The next day, Dmitri rushed to find the place but, much to his dismay, realized that ARNO had played a practical joke on him. The address turned out to be a vacant plot of land on the site of a demolished building.2
This only fueled Dmitri’s desire to track the man down no matter what. Finally, the group’s persistence paid off. One day, ERIKA spotted ARNO running into the entrance of the Hotel Napoleon near the Arc de Triomphe. First she thought he was just trying to lose his tail. But then, through the glass door, she saw him take a key from the front desk and enter an elevator. She went into the hotel hall and asked the concierge whether a man in a light suit had just walked in. When the concierge answered affirmatively, she asked where she could find him. “Room 86, third floor,” he answered. ERIKA pretended to be going there but, in fact, stayed in a corridor for a half hour and then inconspicuously slipped out of the hotel. The news reconfirmed Dmitri’s hunch that ARNO had lied both to him and to Bazarov: a typesetter could hardly afford to stay in such an expensive place.3
Dmitri rushed into action. He checked into the hotel himself and soon learned that “Charlie” was registered there under the name of “Ernest H. Oldwell.” Full of hope, Dmitri went to London. Through the city address bureau, he found several men of this name, but none of them fitted ARNO’s profile. Obviously, “Oldwell” was the man’s alias.
Searching for clues to the Brit’s identity, Dmitri hypothesized that the initials of ARNO’s real name were the same as those of his alias. Recalling his own experience, he observed that people tend to cling to the familiar. To check out his hunch, one day, shortly before “Charlie” had to leave hi
s hotel room for their meeting, Dmitri ran up to the room and burst in. The move was risky but calculated. It violated the condition ARNO set for meetings with any OGPU agents—his right to privacy had to be honored. But Dmitri decided that since “Charlie” hadn’t been paid yet for his recent delivery of the British diplomatic dispatches, he would hardly make good on his threat to break with the Soviets. He asked “Charlie” to excuse him for intruding, citing “an emergency,” which was to notify him about a sudden change of the place and time of their meeting. He, “Count Perelly,” had just received orders to go to Turkey on an OGPU emergency assignment. At first “Charlie” became angry, but the count’s explanation seemed plausible to him, and he softened up. They set another date for their next meeting and Dmitri left, politely bowing and asking again to be excused for his intrusion. Before leaving the room, Dmitri spotted what he was looking for. It was ARNO’s travel bag lying in the corner of the room. On it he clearly made out its owner’s embossed initials—“E.H.O.” Bingo!
The rest of the task to find out ARNO’s real name was a matter of logic. Since he had most likely traveled to Europe on business related to his place of work, the British Foreign Service, it was natural to assume that he was a member of the large British delegation, which, a few days after the postponed appointment, was to take part in the next session of the League of Nations. The OGPU already knew that British diplomats usually stayed at the Hotel Beau Rivage in Geneva. Dmitri went there and, scanning the list of delegation members posted near the counter in the hotel lobby, found one that fit the initials “E.H.O.” It was Ernest Holloway Oldham.
Such a close match of the first name with the alias and the exact initials “Charlie” had used in his Paris hotel (“Ernest H. Oldwell”) left Dmitri with little doubt about “Charlie’s” identity. Waiting patiently for ARNO’s appearance in the hotel lobby, he finally spotted him taking a seat at the hotel bar. As in his recent handling of ROSSI, Dmitri again made his appearance before his target as dramatic as possible. Without saying hello, he took a seat on the stool next to ARNO. Oldham paled in horror. Now he realized that his cover was blown, and he was no longer in control of his relationship with the OGPU.
In early September 1931, Dmitri and Bazarov went to London to find everything they could on Oldham. It was an important step toward carrying out Stalin’s order to open British diplomatic pouches. Consulting Britain’s Who’s Who, they found out what they had suspected all along: their “Charlie” was not a typesetter but a staff member of the British Foreign Service, a decorated officer, a retired army captain. The book also revealed that the man owned a sizable mansion in the upscale area of Pembroke Gardens in Kensington. A visit to his home would send the message that his days of independence were over. His cover blown, now he had no choice but to submit to all OGPU demands.
Once they settled in London, in preparation for the visit, Dmitri dressed in the style of a regular London official—a bowler hat, a dark gray jacket, and striped pants. Looking him over before he stepped out to the street, a nervous Bazarov blessed Dmitri, “May God be with you!” When Dmitri arrived at Oldham’s estate, a pretty maid answered the door. Dmitri gave her his business card, that of a Dresden bank representative, embossed with his Hungarian count insignia, and slipped her a pound bill as a tip.
But the effect of his appearance was diminished by the absence of the master of the house. His wife, Lucy, met the stranger rather coldly. In Dmitri’s account, she was a “beautiful woman around fifty years old who tried to look younger than her age.” (In fact, Lucy was almost twelve years older than Oldham, whom she married after her first husband had died, leaving her with their two boys. To hide this discrepancy in their ages, both Lucy and Ernest lied on their marriage certificate, stating that she was four years younger and he was five years older.) She also gave the impression of being haughty and not too bright. Dmitri respectfully introduced himself and explained that, due to a volatile stock market, her husband’s valuables were at risk. In the interest of its clients, the bank had sent him for an urgent meeting to discuss the situation privately. Softening at the mention of money matters, Lucy explained that her husband was out of town.4
Dmitri made his next move. As he often did during his intelligence career, he played his “innocent abroad” card. “I’m sorry,” he said to Oldham’s wife, “I’m not very familiar with British etiquette, but I hope it’s not out of line to invite you to lunch with me at the Ritz Hotel.” It was the most expensive place to eat in London, and the lady was duly impressed.
Toward the end of their lunch, during the course of which he ordered a bottle of high-priced Burgundy and coffee with cognac, Lucy became totally disposed toward the elegant and attractive visitor. She even felt comfortable confiding to him that the reason for her husband’s current absence was his inordinate love of alcohol. On doctor’s orders, he was undergoing treatment at the Rendlesham Hall near Woodbridge in Suffolk. She felt hopeless about her husband’s addiction to drink and asked the count to try to convince him, for his own good, to take the treatment seriously.
The next day, she sent the family’s luxurious car, complete with a uniformed chauffeur, to pick up the count. As the car reached the private sanatorium, which looked like a medieval castle, Dmitri found drunken Oldham in the hall sleeping in one of the ancient armchairs. A servant wanted to wake him up, but Dmitri stopped him. Making himself comfortable in another chair, he calmly waited until “the typesetter” woke up. When Oldham finally opened his eyes and saw the Hungarian OGPU agent near him, he was crushed. Now, he had nowhere to run. “God damn you!” was his only reaction. According to Dmitri, he stayed in the sanatorium for about a month until Oldham completed the treatment. Little by little, Dmitri learned what he had suspected all along: that ARNO wasn’t some modest typesetter, but a Foreign Office specialist in developing cipher codes and deciphering them. They returned to London together. From that time on, ARNO didn’t budge, and although from time to time he cursed “that awful Bolshevik Da Vinci” behind his back, he carried out his orders to the letter. Dmitri stayed close to him and watched his every step. He even accompanied him on recreational excursions. On one of their visits to a cinema theater, afraid of being exposed as a Soviet agent, Oldham had a nervous fit when Dmitri hesitated for a moment before jumping to his feet the way everybody else did as the first chords of “God Save the King” played before the screening started.5
As anticipated from the start of Dmitri’s involvement in the case, ARNO’s wife (code-named MADAM) took a liking to the young and handsome Hungarian count. She insisted that he stay at their home and convinced her husband to extend his invitation as well. Moreover, she promised to introduce the count to Oldham’s colleagues among the Foreign Office officials. This opportunity for the Center was hard to pass up. Although it was established now that ARNO wasn’t a “mere typesetter” but a Foreign Office functionary himself, he was still believed to be a go-between for “the source,” that is, someone in charge of the entire flow of British diplomatic correspondence. Establishing the identity of that man would make it possible to eliminate ARNO from the loop. That way, the OGPU could achieve two objectives at once: to speed up the delivery of information and save on commission paid to ARNO.
But it was not expected that Oldham’s wife wouldn’t wait for the Hungarian count to make a pass at her. Apparently, long neglected sexually by her alcoholic husband, MADAM took the initiative and approached Dmitri. On the eve of ARNO’s return from the clinic, she offered herself to Dmitri, as KIN’s report to the Center expresses it, quite straightforwardly: with the “spirited gesture of a seaport hooker, rolling up the hem of her dress, spreading her legs, and begging him not to waste any time.” Dmitri told his stepgrandson three decades later that he’d been caught by surprise and simply succumbed to the temptation. The moment it was over, he locked himself in the bathroom, overwhelmed with shame. “I looked in the mirror. I’m sweaty; my tie shifted to one side. My God, what do I tell my superiors?” As KIN’s
report to the Center shows, Dmitri gave a plausible excuse for his unauthorized action. He informed Bazarov that he had to make a split-second decision: since MADAM was needed as a source of information for future dealings with ARNO, if he had rejected her, she might have become hostile toward him. His refusal to oblige her could make access to ARNO difficult, if not impossible.6
Meanwhile, for his own protection, ARNO tried to make Dmitri’s presence in his family as inconspicuous as possible. Since Oldham had to take packages of confidential materials across the British border himself and deliver them to Bazarov in Berlin, he entrusted the Hungarian count with the care of his younger stepson, Raymond. Dmitri took the boy to Germany and placed him with a family living in a villa near Bonn overlooking the Rhine River. This gave ARNO a legitimate pretext for his periodic trips abroad—visits to his son. Gradually, Dmitri’s relationship with Oldham’s family grew to the extent that he was entrusted with the most intimate of family affairs. When ARNO’s daughter-in-law, the wife of his older stepson, Tommy, exceeded the time limit for obtaining an abortion in England, Dmitri took her across the channel to Berlin, where he arranged for the unlawful operation.
Wary of the possibility that British counterintelligence was watching Oldham, the meeting places and intervals between them were changed often. Madrid, Paris, a beach near Ostend (Belgium), and a Swiss resort area (near Brienz, in the canton of Bern) were some of the locations to which ARNO traveled with his packages of diplomatic dispatches for the OGPU.
Overall, things were going smoothly, but from time to time mishaps occurred. Once when ARNO brought the next book of diplomatic ciphers and codes to Paris, tired after an all-night photography session in his hotel room, Dmitri cut his finger while pressing the pages with a piece of glass. A large bloodstain appeared on one of the pages. No matter how hard he tried to lick it off the surface or wash it off with a wad of cotton, the blot refused to disappear. By luck, when Oldham returned the books to his office, nobody noticed anything suspicious. In his KGB memo, Dmitri explained this oversight, saying that British Foreign Office functionaries—mostly aristocrats—knew each other from their Ivy League school years and trusted each other too much.
Stalin's Romeo Spy Page 16